Secrets
by water wolf 100
Summary: "Arthur Weasley, when he designed the clock, never imagined placing 'dead' as a potential location for any of them." Still suffering after the Battle of Hogwarts, George doesn't know how to cope with the idea of being alone. *I do not own cover art*


**I had the vision for a scene in this story a few months back. It wouldn't leave until I wrote it. I hope you enjoy and please write a review. **

**I own nothing but the plot of this individual story.**

**~Wolfie**

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Secrets

Everywhere he looked he saw his face. The same gleaming eyes. The wisps of ginger hair that never stayed in place. The pull at the corners of his mouth into a confident smirk. Granted George Weasley had nothing to smile at as of late. This is why he held himself up in his room day in and day out.

In this room, their sanctuary, he was safe from the prying eyes of his family. They wanted to keep him close. Their dad said it was the best place for him to be. In such a dark time being with family was the fastest way to healing.

_Rubbish _

George was here, in this place filled with people and memories, because his family did not want him to be alone. His mum was afraid of what he would do if left on his own. Not that she paid much attention to things these days. After the Battle of Hogwarts she spent much of her time staring at pictures of Fred. Sure she came around once in a while, but it was obvious she was still suffering.

They all were. His parents greeted and lived each day in a daze. Bill and Flur, who had come back from the Shell Cottage for a while, often spent their time working. Working kept their minds off of things. Charlie had returned too. He often helped Bill around the Burrow, preparing meals and such. Charlie didn't say much, but he never was one for words to begin with. Percy was taking it harder than George would have expected. At night he could often hear him crying out for Fred. Ron popped in and out all the time; George never knew where he went. He didn't ask and Ron didn't tell. And Ginny, like George had hardly come out of her room since they arrived home.

That wasn't the worst of it though. It was bad enough that his family was suffering, but none of them could bear to look him in the eyes. For three days George sat around the house watching his family, the people who were supposed to love him above all, avoid his gaze.

George knew why. Because every time they looked at him, all they could see was Fred. Did it not occur to any of them that he had to look at himself every day? He was the one who shared a face with Fred.

It wasn't fair.

In a desperate attempt to avoid his family, George had retreated into his room. The one place that had been entirely his and Fred's. George was trapped in here with the memories of his dead twin. Long nights spent with the two huddled over designs for their products. Shining mornings with the promise of a new adventure. Rainy afternoons lazily passing the time. There had been no secrets in this room. Not between them. Never between them.

Now this place was an archive. A tomb. It held trinkets from their childhood, remains of items they did not feel the need to pack when moving to Diagon Ally. Even the sheets lay on the bed, perfectly tucked and folded. Posters of team members from the Ireland Quidditch team clung to the walls desperately.

The air in the room was suffocating. Lifting his head from Fred's bed, where he spent most of his days, George muttered a simple spell. The window eased its way open, allowing fresh air and sunlight to seep in.

Spring was in full force now. The end of May was drawing near, but George had yet to find anything joyful about the season. Outside the sweet smelling grass blew across the rolling hills. Had things not been the way they were, George was positive that he and Fred would be out there. Perhaps testing new products for the shop, perhaps taking a break to go for a fly, George knew that Fed would have been up for anything on a day like today.

There was a knock at the door. Knowing there would be no answer the offending knocker pushed the door open and stepped through the threshold.

"George, it's nearly supper. Is there anything you want?" his dad asked.

"No."

"Right. We'll leave something out for you, in case you get hungry later."

The door shut after that. George counted the footsteps of his retreating father. One-two-three-four-five-six. All conversations seemed to go this was as of late. People got straight to the point, not wasting time with idle chatter. This new communication was fine with George. He didn't want to talk to anyone.

Minutes later there was a soft patter of feet past his door. Ginny was on her way down for supper. It was the only time she would come out of her room. The first day or two she slipped in like a ghost, eyes blood shot and cheeks stained with dried tears.

Quite murmurs floated up to his room. The entire family was making a feeble attempt to return to normal. A ridiculous notion in George's mind. Nothing would ever be the same in this house.

Minutes ticked by. The noise downstairs vanished slowly, matching the setting sun outside. As each person passed by George's room he counted their footsteps. It was easy to identify each member of his family by their footsteps. Soon the house was quiet.

When moonlight started to glide through the open window, George knew it was safe to go downstairs. His family would be asleep and there would be no one to avoid.

A horrible thought slithered into George's mind, dragging into his brain like the belly of a snake. Avoiding his family meant that they would be spared seeing his face, the face of the family member they clearly missed. Would they be this hurt had the roles been reversed? Would they all be this sad had George died and not Fred?

The notion was so disgusting, George almost slapped himself. In the immediate days after Fred's death, George had thought about taking his own life to be with his twin. A world without Fred wasn't one that he wanted to live in at all.

It happened the day of the funeral. Hundreds of people had turned up. One by one, they all had left until only the Weasley, Harry, and Hermonie remained.

After saying their private goodbyes all of the siblings moved away. Molly Weasley still remained, gripping George's hand like a vice. She said nothing, made no noise or motion. After a while she finally let go of George and made her way back to her family.

Exhaustion over took George and he fell to his knees at his brother's grave. The tears flowed freely once again. A wave of emptiness cascaded over him. The stone slab was there, marking his brother's final resting place.

"Why did you leave me here?" George whispered to the stone that bore the name of his best friend. "Why did you leave me here all alone?"

In his 20 years of existence, he hadn't been alone a day in his life. The loneliness was becoming almost unbearable. George knew the spell. It was simple enough. Then he could be with Fred again.

His family was distracted. There would be no one to stop him. This was his only chance. With ease he whisked his wand out of his pocket.

"I'll be there soon, Freddie."

The first syllable of the spell hadn't left his mouth before a heavy weight knocked him over. Thrashing in the grass, George got a look at his attacker. Tear filled blue eyes looked down at him.

"Don't do it, George. Put your wand away."

"Percy?" George choked out.

He gazed at his older brother, looking more distraught than he had ever looked in his life. Taking this moment of confusion, Percy ripped the wand from George's hand and threw it away.

Still pinned under the weight of Percy, George gazed into his eyes. The determined fire was gone, instead replaced with an unending sorrow.

"I just got my family back. Don't make me lose another brother. Please, George. He wouldn't want it."

"How am I supposed to live without him?" George asked back, his voice growing weak.

"By knowing how he would feel if he saw this. Fred would be heartbroken." Percy struggled to get out Fred's name.

George thought about Percy's words. If Fred were standing beside him would he understand what George wanted to do? Absolutely not. His twin intended to grow up, marry the girl of his dreams, grow old with her and live out his days making other people laugh. Giving up was not an option.

Percy stood up. Extending his hand down to his younger brother he hoisted him up from the ground. The pair locked eyes for a moment before Percy held him in a crushing hug. George did nothing to fight him. Instead, he let go of all the emotions still trapped within him.

"Promise me, George. You won't do it." Percy's voice was barely audible.

"I promise."

George kept his promise. Of course, there were days when he wished he hadn't. Every time George looked at one of his family members his heart ripped a little more. It was hard enough for George to live without his twin, but seeing his family grieving made it even worse. He didn't want to see their faces, almost as much as he didn't want them to see his.

That was why he waited until everyone went to bed each night before slipping out of his room. Navigating down the stairs silently proved simple. After all, George knew every millimeter of this house. Not a single floorboard creaked as he slipped down the stairs and into the kitchen.

A plate sat on the table. Every night there was one there for him. Knowing his family was trying to give George his own time to grieve gave him a fragment of peace. They did not push him to come out when he did not want to. They left food out for him each night and did not pressure him to join the family during the day.

George nibbled at the contents of the plate. He could take his time; no one would be up for hours. Across the room George gazed at the clock. Eight hands, depicting his family members, stared back at him. Fred's piece had been on the ground when they returned to the Burrow.

Arthur Weasley, when he designed the clock, never imagined placing 'dead' as a potential location for any of them. The clock didn't know where to put Fred so the piece simply fell off. Ginny was now in possession of it. She carried it around in her pocket. A way to keep him close, George had mused.

He tore his eyes away. The clock was simply too painful to look at. Anything that reminded him of Fred was. This entire house was a giant reminder of Fred. George couldn't escape it. Each item he laid his eyes on caused a memory to surge into his brain.

What could he do? George was trapped in the Burrow. His entire life, it had been his home, his safe haven. Now it resonated with memories of what could no longer be.

George whipped his head around, frantically seeking some means of escape. His eyes settled on a face. _His_ face. But it wasn't a photograph. No, his mum had collected all of those onto one table. This was a reflection. A mirror. George was looking at his reflection, but all he could see was Fred's face.

_Come on, Georgie, are you really going to be beaten by a memory? _

George blinked. The reflection had taken a mind of its own and was now staring back at him, the everlasting grin plastered across his mouth.

"Fred," George said.

_Come on mate, perk up a little. You have work to do. I'm counting on you to make the shop a success. All those things I wanted to do, I need you to finish them for me. What do you say?_

"How? How am I supposed to do anything knowing you won't be with me to do them?"

_You really are thick. And people thought I was the dumb one. I may not be standing by you, but that doesn't mean I'm not with you. _

"Fred, I just can't do it. I can't even look at my reflection without seeing you."

_ Course you can't. We do have the same face, though some might argue that I'm the more handsome one. _

George smiled. It was the first time since Fred died.

_Now go on mate, try and let yourself be a little happy again. I hate seeing my twin depressed like this. _

The image dissolved. George soon found himself looking at his own face once again. His pale complexion, tired eyes, and lack of a left earlobe, all were signs that George was looking at himself.

For a few moments George had felt better than he had in weeks. But he didn't know if it was real or not. It couldn't have been. But Fred was there, talking to him.

George wanted nothing more than for it to be real. To hear the voice of Fred once again. The mirror didn't change back. George was still George.

It was wrong. Once again Fred had left George on his own. First he had died, and now this. It was more than George could take. He could stare at the mirror until his eyes fell out, but the face would never be Fred's.

Balling his fist, he swung his arm at his reflection. The mirror shattered. Fragments of glass cascaded to the floor, splintering as they hit the wood.

Shards of broken mirror still clung to the frame, creating a broken reflection of George. It was accurate. Ironically accurate in George's mind.

He looked down at his right hand. Blood seeped from hairline cuts that scattered his knuckles. He extended his fingers and inspected the damage. Imbedded in many of the cuts were slivers of glass.

George didn't mind the pain. In fact, he enjoyed it. The sting in his hand served as a distraction from his mind. He watched as the blood continued to flow out of his hand. It was faster now. Drops slid down the side of his hand and fell, landing on the glass below.

Pulling his eyes and mind away from his bleeding hand, George looked back at the ruined mirror. In the remains his face was still visible. George became disgusted with the sight of it. His reflection. Between the low moonlight and cracks in the glass, his face looked horribly disfigured. It was terrifying.

"_What's the matter, George? Scared of a little ghost?" _

The reflection had become Fred's face once again. This time his gaze was more sinister, his face warped.

"_You know why I think you can't face anyone?" _Fred's voice mocked._ "Because you don't want them to know that part of you is glad I'm gone." _

"NO!" George screamed. "That's not true."

"_With me gone, it's just George. Not Fred and George. People always treated us as one person. Or worse, compared us to each other. And face it, Georgie, you always knew people liked me better. Even our own family liked me better than you. And you were jealous of that."_

"Shut up, Fred."

"_And now that I'm gone, you get to be the favorite. The only twin. Just George." _

"How could you say that? No one misses you more than me. I would give anything for you to be here again."

"_Is that what you really feel? Or what you think you should feel? No one knew you better than me. And secretly, you were always jealous of me. Admit it."_

"There were never any secrets between us. I told you everything."

"_Did you now? I find that hard to believe." _

Fred paused. He simply stared at George. His disfigured face was taking on an appearance of its own. Twisted, sinister, and cold. It matched George perfectly. The guilt swelled up inside George once again.

"OK FINE!" he bellowed. "I was jealous of you. We did everything together, but you got the recognition. The credit. I was just along for the ride. I'll say it again, I was jealous of you. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

The haunting face didn't respond. He continued to stare at George.

"That may all be true. But one thing that will never be true is that I am glad you're gone. That will NEVER be true. I am going to miss you every day for the rest of my life. So stop staring at me with that smirk!"

Before George knew it, he once again struck the mirror. More of Fred's face broke away. George continued to pound his fist into the glass. With each hit, his rage turned back into grief.

When his hand hit bare wood, George looked up. There was no a shard of glass left on the mirror frame. It lay is splinters at his feet.

Falling to his knees, he continued to pound the shards of broken mirror. His hands were bleeding heavily now. George felt no pain though. Every emotion he had lacked since Fred's death was piled into this one moment. Arbitrary pain, like that in his hands, was nothing to him. There was no physical pain in the world that could top the suffering he was feeling right then.

A pair of hands around his neck made George stop. He flipped around to meet a pair of brown, blood-shot eyes. Ginny. She held on to George, using her own body to keep him from harming himself any further.

There were two more presences in the room. Arthur and Molly had come down and joined George and Ginny on the floor. Molly was crying again. Not from her own sadness, but from seeing one of her children suffering so badly.

Footsteps thudded down the steps. George recognized them as his brothers. They all came down. Seeing the sight before them, not one of them hesitated to join in on the forming embrace.

They all simply sat there. Holding each other, mourning the loss of Fred in the only way they knew how. Being together as a family was what they knew how to do best.

Despite the number of people around him, George did not feel at all suffocated by his family. They acted more like a shield to him, protecting him from the darkness in his heart. It gave George a sense of peace and comfort he hadn't felt in a long time. His family was here, and in a way, so was Fred.

At long last George found the will to speak. "I miss him. I miss him so much."

"I know, Love. I know." Molly smoothed his hair, still holding him close.

"How do I get on without him?"

"Simply by living," Arthur said. "The pain, it may never fully go away. But, we learn to cope. And we also remember. Remember Fred, and he will never really be gone."

George nodded. So much was lost in the war. But it was up to the survivors to go on and rebuild what was left of their world. Time was what they needed.

Everyone began drifting back to their rooms for the night. It had been an exhausting day for them all. Before going to bed himself, George and his father cleaned up the mess. Unknown to Arthur, George slipped a piece of the mirror into his pocket. Afterwards, Molly insisted on taking care of George's hands.

With fresh bandages, George found himself back in his room. As he nestled down to sleep there was a knock. The door cracked open and Ginny stepped in. She clutched something in her hand.

"You need this more than me." That was all she said. She placed the object on the bed and left the room. Examining what was there, George smiled as he saw the face of his brother looking back at him.

There was only one place for this, and George knew it. He lay the timepiece on Fred's bed and got into his own. The air felt instantly lighter. As if Fred was really there in the room beside him.

"Night, Freddie."

The Weasley family never knew what caused George to destroy the mirror that night. He never spoke of the ghost of Fred. Nor did he ever tell anyone that on nights when he really needed to see his brother, he would pull out the fragment of mirror. Gazing into it, he could still see that trademark smirk. And if he was lucky, he could hear his voice. George could tell him anything. After all, there were never any secrets between them.

The End

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**Please review! Hope you enjoyed my first Harry Potter piece**


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